


For Love

by r_lee



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_lee/pseuds/r_lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What he does, he does for love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alley_Skywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/gifts).



**I.**

He wears white. Members of the Kingsguard wear white for a number of reasons: it makes a beautiful backdrop to the red of the blood they often shed. It makes them stand out in the sunlight and under a bright moon. White holds some arcane and ridiculous purity symbolism, as if it were a fire that could burn brightly enough to erase all other colors from the world. White is the color of honor, of innocence, and when one waves a white flag it is also the color of defeat.

Jaime Lannister has never been defeated, although many have tried. Even when he and his sister were separated by Mad King Aerys, who thought he had the Lannisters bested, every beat of his heart has pumped the single word _Cersei_ over and over and that, he feels, has kept him from harm. What he does, he does for his twin sister, the Queen, the mother of his children. If he’d had the patience to excel at his reading as his father wanted he would write her poetry, but his skills have always lain elsewhere. His skill is with a sword, not with a pen, and his love for his sister might be secret but his love for his family is not and has never been in question.

What he does, he does for love. There are four of them left: his father, his sister, his brother, himself. As much as his sister and father revile Tyrion, he loves his brother a great deal. There may be a difference of nine years separating the two of them — the world might blame Tyrion for their mother’s death — but it isn’t as if his father spawned a twisted monstrosity intentionally. People say that a dwarf is punishment visited on the past sins of the family but even if that is so, it is wrath misplaced on an innocent child. He has always been fond of Tyrion, and as protective of him in his own way as he has been of Cersei, but with an entirely different quality of intimacy. He loves his brother, but he _loves_ his sister.

And Tyrion knows exactly how much, on both counts.

 

**II.**

When one is born small and deformed, one must do his best to live up to the expectations the world places on him. When one’s first act is killing the mother who brought him into this world, he can hardly expect the adoration of his bereaved father, or the understanding of his elder brother and sister. Suddenly the family is wrenched apart but worse, there is cause to mock them. All because of a little accident of birth.

Were he born to any house beside House Lannister he would have been bundled up and left in the woods to starve or to be mauled by some creature — a wildcat, a boar, a direwolf — but it was both his fortune and misfortune to be born to House Lannister, to a father who despises him, a sister who resents him, and a brother so handsome and tall and noble and shining that in comparison, no other son could ever hope to compete. The oddest thing, though, is that Jaime has never treated him like the small bow-legged freak of nature who killed their mother. He has only ever been treated as a brother, despite one dwarf’s best efforts to knock that golden-maned pretty noble thing from his high horse. There are those expectations to live up to, after all.

Because he’s the youngest member of House Lannister and because — by virtue of Jaime’s membership in the Kingsguard — he is the heir to his father’s estate, he travels from Casterly Rock and accompanies the royal procession from King’s Landing to Winterfell, much to the chagrin of the Queen. At least, being a Lannister, he’s got the comfort of a carriage. If he had to ride a horse for a month, he’d kill himself. Death would be a welcome alternative to that, he’s certain.

 

**III.**

“She hates me.” Tyrion’s making short work of his fourth tankard of ale. Jaime keeps one watchful eye on the King and Queen and one on his brother, weary from traveling and ill-tempered from an abundance of being stared at as well as a marked lack of fucking. He holds court in the corner, propped up on a chair where his legs can only dream of reaching the floor should he need to stand suddenly.

“Don’t worry, little brother, she despises everyone tonight. Look at her.” At a table across the way, Cersei smiles her hateful dutiful smile, endures King Robert’s ribald jokes and spit-filled laughter and the way he eyes the tavern wench. Before this night is through there is a high probability that the King will have lain with the girl, damn him. At least Jon Arryn is no longer around to dig into things, should there be yet another Baratheon bastard in nine months’ time.

Tyrion shakes his head. “She does look to be filled with hatred. I don’t envy her. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, stuck there in King’s Landing with no one but spies and spiders to keep her company. Oh, but wait, _you’re_ there now. That’s got to be some small solace.”

“Careful, brother.” Jaime’s gaze doesn’t turn from the royal table, but his words are filled with warning, moderate though the warning might be. “This is our lady the queen you speak of.” Catching his sister’s eye he nods, and for a hint of a moment her smile softens into something far more genuine than he’s seen in days. They’re not far from Winterfell, and that means they’re not far from an opportunity for privacy. It’s one they’ve not had for weeks now, and they both share the sentiment of anxiety. Even though he’s been a member of the Kingsguard since he was fifteen — close on twenty years — and sworn never to marry, he hasn’t been alone. No mere propriety would have been able to keep him from the only woman he’s ever loved. Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen are proof enough of his love, and they are three secrets he’s been willing to die for.

“The queen, my sister.” Tyrion’s words are full of thinly veiled distaste. They’ve never got on, him and Cersei, and what Jaime loves about his sister are the very things Tyrion vehemently denies he himself has: strength, fortitude, unswerving loyalty, fire and passion. All those qualities he has in spades, but what's celebrated in the Queen are frowned upon in him as weaknesses. Life can be so unfair. “What is it like, I wonder, to be a queen. To have a twin brother who’s renowned throughout the land.” Tyrion takes a loud sip of his ale, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s it like to be Kingslayer, brother, can you tell me that? I’ve never asked.”

And a good thing, too, Jaime thinks, but holds the thought to himself. The title has followed him since the day it was bestowed on him and he still to this day believes he did the world a favor, ridding it of Aerys Targaryen. The man was a monster: he saw the worst side of the king for a good long time. He saw the madness and the rage, the blind devotion to his own cause, the violence, the harm and outright pain Aerys caused others.

 _All that I’ve done, I’ve done for love._ The thought makes him sigh, and when Cersei turns back to Robert, freeing him from the obligation of attention for the moment, he drops to his knee so he might look his brother in the eye.

“What is it like to be Kingslayer.” With Tyrion he’s never had to lie, at least not of his own volition, even though the lie his father forced him to tell eats away at him to this day. “Kingslayer is a blessing and a curse. They say I was opportunistic, that I acted of my own volition, that I wanted the throne for myself. Precious few will ever know the reality of the situation.” That means Tyrion as well; the things he witnessed under Targaryen rule are things he will hold to himself until he draws his dying breath, if he has any say in the matter. “They say I sat on the Iron Throne to get a taste of it, but I tell you, Tyrion, I have no desire to rule and I never did. They say I should be Hand of the King, but the less I have to do with that, the happier I’ll be.”

“ _Cersei_ says you should be Hand of the King,” Tyrion corrects, miffed at the emptiness of his tankard.

“More ale,” Jamie calls with a wave of his hand. “More ale for my brother.” It might buy a moment or two of Tyrion’s silence, and that will be worthwhile; his voice lowers as his attention returns to his brother. “Cersei can say it all she wants, but the decision is not hers to make. There’s only one reason we’re going to Winterfell, and it’s not to sample the women of the north.” His face creases into a genuine smile. “At least that’s not the reason for most of us. I rather suspect you have a different play in mind, brother.”

Tyrion laughs, fondly patting the ass of the woman bringing him his ale. But he motions her away in favor of his brother. “It’s been _weeks._ I’m dying here.”

“Then you’ll have to die a little longer. We’ll be in Winterfell in two days’ time and once we’re there, I’ll buy you all the whores you can handle.”

“And until then, I can hear glorious tales of backstabbing adventure as a piss-poor substitute. You haven’t answered my question.” His mismatched eyes, the one green and the other black, bore into his brother’s. It would be unnerving were Jaime not used to it.

“The question is a difficult one to answer. What is it like to be Tyrion? What is it like to be Jaime, or Cersei? What is it like to be Kingslayer? It is to be despised by half the country and snickered at by the other half. Make no mistake, I was far from the only one who would have seen Aerys Targaryen removed from the throne.” The entire thing happened in a moment of opportunity, like everything else in this life. “What does it mean to be Kingslayer?” Jaime shakes his head slightly and doesn’t waver from his brother’s stare. “The name is a strong one. I’m not sure when it came to be used as a matter of weakness, but when people call me that, I’m certain they’re jesting. They use it to demean me, to demean our house and our family. The name was given in pride, but like so many things, it’s fallen from favor.” He nods toward his sister and Robert. “Uniting houses is an unhappy business.”

Settling back in his chair, Tyrion nods. It’s difficult for him to find comfort, Jaime knows as much; it’s been a curse for his younger brother his whole life. “All for the sake of politics.”

“All for the sake of politics,” Jaime echoes. “Does no one do these things for love?”

“Astute.” Tyrion laughs into his ale. Soon his words will become sloppy and he’ll doze off, and after that Jaime will take him to his room so he might sleep off the alcohol. Once his brother is fitfully settled, he’ll do what he does every night: stand watch. He takes his position as a member of the Kingsguard seriously and hides the disgust and jealousy and anger he feels every time the door closes on Cersei and Robert. All for the sake of politics. “When one does things for love, all involved are bound to suffer the consequences.” Tyrion’s words bring his meandering thoughts back to the present.

There’s bitterness in Tyrion’s voice; Jaime knows he speaks of Tysha. What happened to her pains him to this day; he had no knowledge of their father’s true intention. Had that been clear, he doubts he would he have lied to Tyrion. The whole matter is moot. What’s done is done and with any luck, Tyrion will never know his part in the deception. It’s unfair that he and Cersei continue to share their great love, illicit though it may be, but their younger brother was forbidden to stay wedded to a simple crofter’s daughter.

Life, however, is rarely fair.

Tyrion’s eyes close; he drinks from the tankard blindly. “When we get to Winterfell, I’m holding you to that promise. I want you to buy me all the whores I can handle.”

With a small grin, Jaime stands. “And how many whores will that be?”

“More than you can afford, brother. More than all our Lannister gold can afford.”

 

**IV.**

Grown men don’t waddle to their room, grasping their brother’s leg. Tonight, however, it’s what he can manage. He’s a dwarf: unliked and unloved, and by some sort of ridiculous joke, overendowed. This is his one saving grace and once they finally do arrive at Winterfell, he’ll take great advantage of the situation. Perhaps even the _minute_ they arrive.

“They call you Kingslayer, but they call me The Imp. I’d rather have your title than mine.” Uncomfortable in his skin, he removes what he wears down to his smallclothes and climbs into the bed. Hopefully there will be a marked lack of fleas, but he’s not going to hold his breath. This far north, those traveling the Kingsroad are lucky to even find a tavern that’s not crawling with vermin. For all he knows this one was, and it’s only recently been cleaned out in preparation for the Royal Procession.

Maybe that was rat in his onion stew tonight rather than squab. There’s little enough love lost between Winterfell and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, but so long as he travels with the king and queen, he’s safe. He pulls the blanket up to his chin. “Give Cersei my love.”

“You can be a nasty drunk, Tyrion.” Jaime shakes his head.

Turning toward the wall, Tyrion laughs. “Just one of my many talents. Goodnight, Jaime.” It’s no more than a matter of moments until sleep claims him.

Jaime watches his brother until he’s certain that Tyrion's sleep is no lie, then lets himself out of the room.

 

**V.**

First watch is his. He stands, dressed in the white of the Kingsguard, sword in hand, back against the wall, tall and proud and unsmiling. His sister has taken a room of her own, which fills him with unspoken relief. Their children — the royal children — are long since asleep. His brother, The Imp, lies snoring in his room, as does King Robert who, as he suspected, is not alone. In two days' time they'll be at Winterfell and he can't wait for the opportunities that presents but now, tonight, Jaime Lannister stands tall and proud and unsmiling, sword in hand, back against the wall. He will stand guard here until Mandon Moore arrives to relieve him and only then will he sleep, visions of Cersei crowding his thoughts.

What he does, he does for love and always has.


End file.
